Sparks
by Photogirl1890
Summary: Five times B'Elanna Torres lost her temper. And one time she didn't. From pre-Voyager to season six. P/T eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.

Rated T.

A/N: I hadn't heard of such a thing as a '5+1' until I read one of **Alpha Flyer**'s Avengers fics_. _So, that's where the idea for this initially came from. Thanks AF.

This was a really fun format to write in.

Many thanks to** Delwin** for the beta reading and constant encouragement that helped me get this done in record (for me) time.

* * *

**1**

Daniel Byrd was a stupid little _petaQ_.

Miss Malvin said not to use that word, but it was true, and telling lies was bad, too. That's what the stupid teacher had said when B'Elanna told her it was somebody else who'd smashed Daniel Byrd's clay model of Zefram Cochrane's _Phoenix_ by throwing it out of the art room window after Daniel dropped red paint on B'Elanna's shoes and said it was bloodwine. She must always tell the truth.

Well, the truth was, Daniel Byrd was brainless. He copied all B'Elanna's answers in math class, but Miss Malvin was never looking when he did it, and when B'Elanna had tried to stop him by grabbing his PADD and deleting his entries, who had got in trouble for 'disturbing the lesson'? Not Daniel Byrd.

He looked … picture-perfect. He had bright blue eyes and shiny blond hair and a totally smooth forehead. The teachers all loved him because he sucked up to them (though he still called Miss Malvin a fat cow behind her back). Daniel Byrd was the captain of the junior soccer team, the winner of the class all-round achievement prize, and the kid that always made his parents proud.

Someone drew a targ on the playground in white chalk during recess. Except it wasn't really a targ because targs didn't have giant ridges on their foreheads. But this one did. It also had a "B" and a "T" scrawled on its back. Then it rained and the chalk washed away before any of the teachers could notice it. The next day when Miss Malvin started talking about Terran marine life and showed a picture of a sea turtle, Daniel Byrd started giggling and poked B'Elanna in the back with a ruler, whispering "Miss Turtlehead". Miss Malvin didn't hear him. But she heard all right when B'Elanna's chair scraped back on the floor as she turned around to thump him on the shoulder. Hard. The little _petaQ_ cried until his face was red and his nose was snotty, and all the girls fussed over him because they all wanted him to pick them to go with to the end of year party.

B'Elanna got sent down to the Principal's office. Principal Brott – an unusually miserable Bolian - asked why B'Elanna was always picking on Daniel Byrd. B'Elanna said nothing. What was the point? Either Brott wouldn't believe her, or he would believe her and Daniel Byrd would get told off and then be even more horrible. Or Brott would tell her to just ignore the name calling, which she tried to do, but sometimes she got so mad she wanted to punch Daniel in the face and break his perfect nose and put black rings around those bright blue eyes. The Principal said if it happened again he was going to have to speak to her parents. _Parents_. B'Elanna didn't bother to tell him that he should be so lucky. She did wonder what her mother would do if she found out about the trouble.

As the only Klingon on Kessik IV, her mother didn't like to be the centre of any fuss. When she wasn't at work, she mostly stayed away from the other residents of the colony. She might be pleased that B'Elanna had stood up for herself. But, for that, B'Elanna would have to tell her mother the names that Daniel Byrd had been saying and about the rude pictures he'd been drawing. B'Elanna didn't want to repeat those words or think about the pictures. Her mother wouldn't understand anyway. She didn't know what it was like to be the only kid in the school who was different. The only kid who wasn't normal. At least winter was coming and B'Elanna would soon be able to wear her warm wool hat, which covered her forehead. Maybe she could ask to keep it on indoors. The heating in school was never turned up quite high enough and B'Elanna was always a little cold.

"Miss Turtlehead" was a name that stuck. B'Elanna had hoped that, after a weekend away from the school, Daniel might forget about it. But, no. It even caught on with some of the other kids, and those that didn't say it wouldn't do anything to stop the rest. The whispering and giggling was even worse than the outright shouting. "We're not talking about you," some of the less brazen kids would insist when B'Elanna looked as if she was going to turn on them, staring fiercely with her fists clenched.

Miss Malvin was thrilled when Daniel kept putting his hand up to ask more questions about turtles. He was keen to know everything about them: what they ate, what ate them, and if there were turtles anywhere apart from on Earth. Like Vulcan. Or Qo'noS, maybe? Miss Malvin was clueless to the laughing that followed. B'Elanna wanted to shrink to the size of a Rafalian mouse and run out of the door. Or turn invisible. Perhaps she could build a personal cloaking device to hide while she plotted to get her revenge.

Daniel Byrd always got first chance on the gyro-swing at recess. B'Elanna didn't care about that. Swings were for babies, not nine year olds. But she did find it interesting to watch how the swing worked. How the parts fitted together, and how, with a few stem bolts removed, the swing could be taken apart. The centrifugal governor was the most important piece of the mechanism. Without it, the swing would rotate too fast and cause serious injuries. The forces would put so much strain on the body that muscles and joints would tear apart. Daniel Byrd wouldn't know that. He wouldn't even notice if the governor was disengaged. The little _taHqeq_ probably couldn't even spell the words.

B'Elanna could get to the swing first when the bell rang to let the kids out to play. Daniel Byrd was fast, but B'Elanna was even faster – when she wanted to be. And, with a few quick adjustments with the hydrospanner she'd pocketed from the workshop, the centrifugal governor would be uncoupled before Daniel could get near enough to see what she was up to. When he got to the swing, she would jump off without a word, letting him think he'd got his way. As usual.

And she would stand off to the side.

And wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

Klingon rituals were pointless, outdated and hateful. For a start, the food involved was disgusting; those dishes that B'Elanna could stand to actually put in her mouth and swallow made her want to puke. The stupid list of what she was and wasn't allowed to do because of some random date on the calendar was really pissing her off, and the incense that had been burning all that week in the living room had made the whole house stink ('expeller of demons' – seriously?). More than once, B'Elanna had found herself hoping that the house's fire suppression system would take as much offense to the fumes as she did herself and activate the sprinklers in the ceiling, dousing her mother with water.

"You must honour the traditions of our people, B'Elanna."

It was a tired (and inaccurate) old tune. _Our _people. They were her mother's people, the Klingons. B'Elanna was a Federation citizen, not a daughter of the Empire. She dressed like a human, behaved (generally) as a human, and was living amongst humans and other non-Klingons. After that hellish stint at the monastery on Qo'noS, she was attending a Federation school again. And when high school was over, she hoped to be accepted by Starfleet to take the engineering track at the Academy. In Starfleet, where a hundred species lived and served together, travelling to the farthest reaches of the Quadrant, and encountering far more interesting physiological specimens than a human-Klingon hybrid, a half-human, half-Klingon engineer wouldn't raise any eyebrows. In Starfleet, anyone could fit in.

This particular afternoon, B'Elanna had come home from school and entered the house to be greeted by the sound of chanting from the living room: her mother reciting (from memory, no doubt) some litany against fear and cowardice. B'Elanna kicked off her shoes and stomped straight upstairs without so much as a hello. It wouldn't do to interrupt anyway. She closed the door to her bedroom. The noise cut out, unable to penetrate the soundproof material. Which also meant that she didn't hear the approaching footsteps of her mother, come to summon her to partake in the inane ritual that was required for today.

"I have a chemistry paper due tomorrow," B'Elanna protested as the door snapped open for her mother to enter. "I don't have time for some stupid ceremony." If she was to meet the exacting academic standards set by the Academy's entrance board, top grades were essential. There might be three more years of high school left, but it was never too early to stay on top of the class in math and science (and work towards acceptable grades in everything else).

"The rite of _tagh'DIS _is not stupid," her mother lectured. "I will not have you speak of it in such a disrespectful tone."

The confrontation escalated from there. The Klingon language has over ten words for 'battle'. This clash of wills could be described as a _Hargh_: a major confrontation. That same soundproofing that was built into the internal walls of the house also insulated the neighbours from the yelling as mother and daughter fought to persuade the other of their own rightness. Miral had the advantage of volume, but B'Elanna had inherited all of her mother's stubbornness. (And then some.) Threats of grounding, confiscation of various belongings, and cancellation of holomovies did nothing to persuade B'Elanna to take part in the chanting or the follow up, which involved toasting to Kahless with _ra'taj_. She was done with all that crap. As far as the Klingon religion was concerned, B'Elanna was happy to be a devout heretic. Kahless could piss off to _Gre'thor _and stay there. She told her mother so in those exact words.

Miral's eyes widened in shock like she had just seen a herd of angry targs running towards her. Shock turned to fury. B'Elanna had never seen her mother look quite so … Klingon. Her mother's hand raised and drew back as if to slap her across the face, but, instead, B'Elanna's school bag, which was still slung over her shoulder, was yanked from her with a force that nearly pulled her off her feet. Miral opened and upended the bag. PADDs, styluses and a few actual papers fell out to be strewn on the floor and kicked about as if her mother were marking a circle in dust. In a final flourish, Miral flung the empty bag over B'Elanna's head. It collided with the far wall and dropped down on top of her desk. 

"These things will feed your mind, but they will not sustain your soul," Miral snarled, gesturing at the pile on the floor, kicking again at a PADD for good measure. "The Day of Honour is coming. You will reflect then on your shameful behaviour, but you will apologise to me right now!"

B'Elanna struggled to breathe, rage boiling her insides, her fists clenched. The urge to lash out at her mother was overwhelming, but instead she channelled her anger into her words again. "You have got to be kidding!" she shouted. "I'm never going to have anything more to do with your stupid Day of Honour or anything Klingon ever again. You just try and make me." And crossing her arms across her chest, she stared her mother in the eyes, unflinchingly. When her mother was the first to look away, B'Elanna was at first surprised, then filled with a deep sense of triumph. A few damaged PADDs were a small price to pay for getting her mother off her back. It didn't matter too much if the PADDs were damaged; the files were backed up on the school's server. The handwritten technical drawings for Mr. Chan, the physics teacher, might have to be re-done though; the guy was a stickler for proper presentation. But still, it was a fair trade.

Now instead of subjecting her daughter to a fierce glare, Miral would not look at B'Elanna. Shaking her head gently and glancing around the room, looking anywhere but at her daughter she almost whispered, "Clean up this mess." Those were the last words she uttered to B'Elanna for the next two weeks. B'Elanna's satisfaction turned to frustration, then to resignation, and, in the second week, to a guilt that she didn't especially want to acknowledge and a feeling of rejection about which she pretended not to care. Her mother wasn't just angry; she was hurt. Well, she'd get over it. It was hardly the first time her expectations hadn't been met.

On the fifteenth day, seemingly at random, normal (dysfunctional) relations resumed. B'Elanna was chastised for leaving a window open, which allowed the neighbour's cat to get in and eat from a plate of _gagh_ that was on the kitchen counter. That cat had really lousy taste.

Three more years. Three more years and she would be free to do whatever the hell she wanted. And if her mother didn't like it, that was just too bad. B'Elanna's life was her own to live.

She would decide for herself who she wanted to be.

And what she wanted to believe in.


End file.
